You Keep Me Right

Chapter Two

The next morning, I wake up next to John, again. Unlike last time though, we are not cuddled up. For a strange reason, this makes me feel.... Oh nevermimd how I feel, emotions are weakness.
I lay for a while longer, watching John sleep, when my phone rings.
"Lesterade." I say when I awnser.
"Yes, hello Sherlock. We have a case. Womam in her mid forties murdered, but no evidence whatsoever. Get your arse dowm here, soon."
He hangs up without letting me say anything.
"John! John wake up! We have a case!" I say, unable to control my enthusiasm.
John grumbles and rolls out of bed.
"Come on! Let's go!" I repeat this over and over, until finally we were in the cab on our way to the crime scene.
"Why arent you more excited, John?" I asked.
"Its the asscrack of dawn!" He replies.
I nod and we pull up to the scene.
A lady lays face down, with One side of her head was smashed in. most likely being hit multiple times with a hammer. She was wearing skanky clothes. Prostitute. I put on gloves and search her pockets. In her left pocket, I find a ring. Married.
"What's this womans name?" I ask.
"Mindy Banks." Lesterade replies.
"Find her husband. I want to ask him a few questions."
I continue looking at the woman, then turn to look at John. "Whatre your thoughts?" I ask.
"I believe she was beaten with a tool, post likely a hammer." He says.
"My thoughts exactly."
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After I reveal that the husband is obviously the murderer, (he found out about her prostitution) John and I go home.
"That was dull. They couldve figured it out themselves. Well, all but Anderson." I say to John.
He chuckles. "You're intelligent, we get it."
"Of course I am! But even though theyre dumb, they could have gotten that themselves."
John laughs again before asking me, "Would you like some tea?"
"Yes"
While John makes tea, I pull out my violin. I look at a piece I had been working on, and begin playing. I close my eyes while playing, feeling the music in my bones. I open them when I hear the soft clink of a tea cup being set down.
"Thank you, John."
"Are you feeling alright?" John asks me.
"Yes, why do you ask?" I reply.
"You never say thank you."
I chuckle, and sip my tea. John pulls out his laptop, probably typing away on his blog. I play my violin again, but find my focus wandering to John.
Such perfect eyes. His laptop reflected light into them, causing them to light up more thay usaul. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips moving while he typed. If I were being completely honest, Id say he's quite adorable.
Dammit Sherlock! Friend's dont think these things about their friends! Wait, whatre you saying? You don't have friends.
I force myself to go to my room, closing the door behind me. I fling myself on my bed and close my eyes. This is absolutely bullshit! I finally fall asleep, being grateful, for I refuse to confront feelings.
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I wake up an hour later, to John knocking on my door. I don't get up, or say anything, but John still walks in.
"Would you like anything from the store?" He asks.
I say nothing and John sighs, then leaves. I don't mean to shut him out, but I'm afraid if I speak my voice woulf crack.
I stare outside my window, watching the rain fall. My emotions take over. I feel sad. Depressed. Angry. I begin crying, which maked me more angry. What are you doing!? You know you don't show emotions! You don't have emotions! Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.
(Trigger warning)
I rollup my sleeve, looking at my already scarred arm. You worthless piece of shit. No wonder no one can love you! I hear my father say. I pull out my blade from inside my dresser, and take a deep breath. I slice my wrist once, watching the blood pour out. Once I see the blood, I know I can't stop. I slice again and again. I don't stop untilI hear the door downstairs open.
"Sherlock I am home!" John says.
I go into my bathroom, grabbing a cloth to hold against my arm. After a few minutes, I roll down my sleeve, and head downstairs.
"Hello, John." I say.
"Want to help put away groceries?" He asks.
"No, but i suppose i have to." I reach for a bag, and Watson grabs my arm.
"Sherlock, you're bleeding, a lot."
I try to pull my arm away. "Just scraped it on something. "
"Sherlock youre lying. Roll up your sleeve."
I don't listen, so John pulls up the sleeve and gasps when he sees.
"Sh-Sherlock. Why--, why'd you?"
"Needed something to keep my mind occupied." I reply, looking at my feet.
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